The Major's atmosphere had held her taut so far.

Frank was conscious of a lump in his own throat as he stared out, helpless, first at the peaceful Sunday fields and then down at the shaking shoulders and the slender, ill-clad, writhed form of Gertie....

He did not know what to do ...

he hoped the Major would not be back just yet.

Then he understood he must say something.
"Don't cry," he said.